Curse of a Caregiving Personality

A week has come and gone. I drove my little sister Michelle back to our parent's, back to her reality. My boyfriend joined us so we could visit his family. After arriving, I pried my littlest sister downstairs to greet me. She had something for me: a gold pen with my name engraved on the cap and the words "an attractive and considerate person" on the box. It surprised me somehow to know that she does think of me, and that I am a positive influence in her life no matter how far away I am. The tears caught in my throat, which she gathered as I was explaining how meaningful it was to receive something tangible back from her. I couldn't remember the last time we exposed our tears to one another. She covered her eyes and turned away shyly. Emotionality is a contagion in a family of sensitive women.
She interjected my emotional appraisal of the pen, "You'll still have me for the summer won't you?"
Pondering the sudden topic change, I nodded reassuringly. "Of course." I would take you back with me now but that is unfair to Jim and I need a few weeks to catch my breath. "Do you think you hold out until then?" I needed to know how desperate she was.
"Yeah. I can wait." Her voice seemed relaxed enough, verifying her words.
"Well if not, just call me." I hugged her again.
"I love you."
My heart drove into my brain. I wanted to pick her up and wisk her away right then. Required all my strength, faith in her resiliency and ability to survive to shove that protective urge down into a knot of weight in my chest where it would stir until I could release it safely.
Wait, just a little longer baby. "I love you too."



My next youngest sister showed obvious signs that her visit with me somehow heightened her irritability with those she returned to. I became afraid that my brief intervention was actually unfair. I let her taste what living away from the place she was raised -the place that represented all of her isolation and lack of control- could be like and then ripped it from her lips. Had discovering a better environment harmed her more than helped if she was only going to return to the place she aimed to escape from?
As I readied to leave, she panicked, asked if I could stay the night, saying it's already late anyway, just spend one night and you could leave tomorrow. Her desperation had me battling with my obligations to Jim on this short visit, and my need to remove myself from the place that inspired only frustration in me. We explained why we were needing to rush the stay, but I pulled her aside to hear her truth.
"Why don't you want me to go? Are you having trouble readjusting?" I asked, secretly and shamefully hoping she had grown to need me.
She threw her arms around me and cried. "I missed my family, but I don't want to be here. This is where I have no choices. I feel ignored here. I'm not respected here like I was with you. I had freedom to do what I wanted and encouraged to explore."
I recalled the feeling of moving back home for the summer after the first year of college all too well. Like a step backward. When the word 'home' no longer fit and I found myself misplaced, wandering and detached.
I breathed a moment, gathering words to offer perspective. "Think of this as an awakening. Now you know the goal, to live on your own, to move away. How do you get there?"
She listed things she knew she needed to do, reminding herself that it takes motivation now that the ideas are established. But she was needing more than that. There were therapeutic needs that would not be fulfilled there. In that moment I confirmed the success of my original objective in this challenge, to support her emotional needs by creating a space for her to grieve and help her discover her own path. My presence and advice wasn't always justified, but I remained honest with her and acknowledged my mistakes and misappropriations.
The problem is that everyone in our parent's house is in need of a shoulder, a guiding hand, and a little understanding, but it is offered in small doses and inconsistently. The majority of the time my parents and sisters default to selfishness, shouting frustrations rather than trying to build compromise and communication. The moment someone in the dispute raises their voice, respect has already been lost, and personal goals have overshadowed the desire for negotiations. That person yells as though they might beat their point of view into the other. So when my family argues, each person is yelling at a wall, When I witness this, the raised voice is more self-defensive, a cry to the other that they are suffocating in order to cease the verbal attacks. It indicates "I have had enough."
This method of communication is the predominant response to conflict among my family (aside from avoidance and isolation). When I was there I too easily conformed to that model by raising my voice when I was just slightly agitated, rather than speaking my truth confidently and cooly. In my home, heated argument is not tolerated. I disciplined myself later for slipping into that mode during my visit, and sought to understand why I felt I needed to raise my voice to be heard. I was threatened and frustrated with unresolved, overarching issues that made me susceptible to explode when pushed. No wonder my little sister was relieved to be among people who practiced more functional modes of communicating one's feelings.
She nodded to my outline of her next step, hesitant to let go of our embrace. I begged her to recall what our adventure together taught her, and to uphold the same control in managing her own destiny that she commanded at my house. Again she nodded, sucking up her own fear so I might continue with my process without too much guilt. I pulled away from that knawing force punishing each step I climbed backward. Unable to bear another good-bye, I turned around and departed.
I drove through the city to Jim's side of town, drowned in guilt. I know I needed a break from the chaos that has plagued me the last few months, and that my relationships with my friends back home begged maintenance, but the fear overwhelmed my thoughts. Jim assured me that this was a new beginning for my little sister. I cannot take her by the hand and make the decisions for her. I know. So why was I in so much pain?
I refer to this as the caregiver syndrome. These nurturing, protective, empathetic, caregiving characteristics infer a tendency for a person to allow another's well-being to take precedent over one's own. It is identified by the desire to save everyone with such a sense of urgency that it appears their life depends upon your care. In a sense, it disvalues the ability of the person needing care to heal themself. Such a reality is skewed with the fear of a loved one enduring torment because of one's own failure to help or provide timely and adequate response. This syndrome can interfere with consideration for one's own health.
Here is where I demonstrate my faith in the human ability. Although one life can alter the course of another's, I must take responsibility only for myself. Do what is right for me, and that is to decompress these pressurized burdens. My little sisters will survive, maybe with a little more hope than before I came. My task was to allow my meer presence to effect positive change for those around me. To not try so hard to help everyone. Mission accomplished.
Now I will devote a few days to myself, then I will figure out if my two younger sisters can somehow live down here with me.